merrily we roll
by Gray Doll
Summary: "Alright, how about this, Kimball – how would you feel about becoming a godfather?"


**a.n./** because i had to do this. it was begging me. 'semi-parody a pregnancy, gray doll', my brain was screaming. this is a divergence for me, both writing-wise and plot–wise. some bits (and topics) were slightly uncomfortable to write like this, but, it was intentional. oh, well. i really did need to get this out of my system!

**;-;**

**merrily we roll**

**I.**

She hadn't expected to wake up on top of Patrick Jane.

With his penchant for popping in and out of her life without notice, nail and bail seemed the obvious course of action. Add to that his brilliant flamboyant epic declaration of undying love on the plane to D.C., Lisbon had been certain the man would give a long graceful bow, wait for applause, and then disappear in typical Jane fashion once the deed was done.

But morning found Lisbon sprawled across Jane's chest, clinging to him like a disheveled barnacle.

She felt Jane's hand sliding from its relatively innocent place at the curve of her hip down to something considerably naughtier. Involuntarily, her mind flashed to images of last night like some sort of kinky strobe light. They hadn't just had sex – no, that would be an understatement of truly epic proportions. They had broken the freaking headboard. Well, _he_ had broken it when she'd tried that backwards move that he seemed to like so very much (well, when you're having sex with a Calvin-Klein-slash-Barbie's-Ken model fantasy, you have to bring your A-game). Thankfully, they'd moved to the next bedroom which had a bed with a reinforced headboard, which was useful as she'd ended up holding on to it for dear life a few moments later.

She'd never really thought about what sex with Jane would be like – well, okay, she'd _thought_ about it. But not really in any sort of detail. And she had assumed it would be dark and quiet, breathy moans and silent communication and a dash of sorrow and candlelight – half romance novel and half drama. Instead, there had been laughter from both sides and loud approval of certain ingenious actions and every light in the room had been on.

Was there supposed to be laughter when you banged Patrick Jane? Wasn't it supposed to be all thoughtful and silent and angsty and torrid and romantic and remorseful? Well, it _had_ been pretty torrid. When your bed partner hadn't had _proper_ sex in over a decade... suffice to say, wall burn on her shins was something she'd never thought would be a problem.

And when it came to stamina, Jane was like the freaking Energizer Bunny of sex. But that sounded wrong. He had serious staying power – that was better.

In short, it had been a truly amazing night. One of those memories you lock up in your mind and don't tell anyone about until you're on your deathbed and want to shock the hell out of your grandchildren with what a kinky bitch you were in your relative youth – like that old lady in Titanic.

But it hadn't been planned and it was unlikely to be repeated – which was devastating to her flower lady parts, like giving them a taste of filet mignon and then taking it all away and telling them they'd have to make do with high school cafeteria soups.

Stupid Patrick Jane with his fingers of awesome and his hair of gold and his thousand watt smile and his tongue of wonder and his envied by all Viagra users peni – _no_. She had to stop digressing.

His hand shifted again. She eased her head away very, very slowly and chanced a look at his face.

A part of her had actually expected him to be watching her with a non concealed smirk (or a full blown grin, that was always a possibility with him), and the other part of her had been expecting his expression (mainly, his eyes) to be a monument to sorrow and love and grief and inner turmoil. As it turned out, both her parts were hilariously mistaken.

The look on his face was that of a puppy. A big, covered in white blond curly hairs, with a bow on its head and eyes larger than night, puppy. His gaze was on her, and it was filled with so much adoration and love and deepness, Lisbon had trouble not averting her own. She almost cleared her throat, but then remembered herself, and smiled.

Her voice was thick with sleep and awkwardness, "Uh... Good morning."

His lips curved as though he had heard the most brilliant sound in the entire history of the world and the worlds before it, and she briefly wondered how the muscles of his face, and especially those connected to his mouth, could still be functioning after the night before and all the things he had done with them. She could safely say, Patrick Jane put the edible in incredible.

"Good morning, my love."

Despite herself, Lisbon shifted a little, suddenly feeling nervous. She appreciated Jane calling her that very, very much. But there was that – she wasn't used to it at all. A single night seemed not enough time for such a transition. She looked up at him again, and saw that his lower lip was trembling slightly. She frowned.

"Jane?" she asked, hesitant. "Are you alright?"

A thousand thoughts flowed through her head, all variations of _he regretted it_. But, she thought, she should have seen this one coming. She-

She wheezed out a choked breath when she felt his arms go around her, pulling her even tighter to him, almost crushing her. "Oh, Teresa," he said, and the vague memory of watching Romeo and Juliet at theater as a college student came to mind, "my beautiful, lovely, arresting, charming, comely, fair, divine, winsome, ravishing, gorgeous, beguiling, exquisite Teresa."

Feeling her own features twisted into a mask of wary confusion, she managed to extract herself from his arms and scramble into a sitting position. She scanned his face – he didn't seem to have a fever. "Jane, you're starting to scare me." He was. She had assumed the plane scene would be a one-time incident.

His eyes widened, and he sat up as well, face level with hers. "My love," he murmured, cupped her face in his hands, "you have no idea how happy I am. I am ecstatic. Waking up, and having you in my arms – it's the most beautiful, wonderful feeling I have ever experienced. _Ever_."

Lisbon felt something tighten in her stomach. At least the sex had been mind-blowing. And she really did love him. So, she had to hold on to the hope that he would go back to being Patrick Jane soon enough.

But for now, she decided she could roll with this. She smiled, and pressed her lips to his.

**II.**

(_One day, she wakes up alone, and her heart almost does a free fall at the realization that he might have regretted her._

_When she pads her way to the kitchen though, she sees that he's up early because he's been making her the grandest breakfast she has ever seen and that the cooks at all those Hilton hotels would be envious of._

_She has to stop in the threshold, and bring a hand to her chest to calm herself from the shock; he's dressed in a frilly apron, blond curls bouncing everywhere, and he's alternating between throwing flour in the pan and dancing around her small kitchen, pretending to be singing with a spatula as a microphone. _

_The air is filled with Bob Marley's voice, "I shot the sheriff, but I didn't shoot no deputy!_"

_Ah_, _she thinks. Semi-normal, then._)

**III.**

Lisbon was fucking _nervous_.

She was a busy woman, and had a busy career, so the Depo shot had seemed like the ideal birth control method to her – get it every three months, no fuss, no muss, no daily pill that she might not have the time to take and later panic about. And it made her period come less often, which was great because tampons were really expensive, even the generic ones, and who actually likes getting their period anyway?

Right now though, Lisbon would be willing to shoot a defenseless adorable creature in the head if it meant getting hers.

Her lack of lady time regularity had never been a problem before. Stress from work and the overall emotional disturbance that came with hunting criminals and being in love with a fickle, emotionally unavailable, gorgeous son of a bitch (that was, now, finally available) were the likely culprits of her funny hormones.

She was on _birth control_. Which had been named that way because it _controlled birth_. It wasn't a sperm speed bump, it was supposed to be a sperm brick wall.

Maybe 99% effective wasn't completely foolproof after all.

On a Tuesday, Lisbon got out and bought her very first pregnancy test, surprising herself by realizing that it _was_ her very _first_ pregnancy test. She was by no means a schoolgirl any more. She felt proud of herself. But she wasn't too worried. She even amused herself by thinking it was her first official scare. And then she took the test and really did become scared.

Her first thought was that she had done it wrong. She did have in mind that it was quite hard to pee on a stick incorrectly, but of course it could have been defective. Surely that happened all the time. Thus, she went out again and bought seven more tests. Overkill? Perhaps. But she didn't quite care.

Seven sticks with variations of pluses, vertical lines and smiling faces (which she thought were all morbidly inappropriate) she sat down and realized she was in trouble.

_Huge_ trouble.

And it wasn't that she didn't want children. Because she did. A part of her always had, and she'd inwardly cry every time she saw a happy family and was reminded she'd probably never have one of her own. But that led her to her serious issue number one: the father.

Patrick Jane was Patrick Jane. There was heavy history with families and fathers and children behind the name and surname, and she seriously doubted Jane would want another child. She couldn't imagine the pain one must feel when losing their own child, and the way Jane had lost Charlotte, it was-

Lisbon tried to imagine what would happen if (or rather, when) she told him. She slumped down on the bathroom's tiled floor, brought her knees to her chest and hugged herself. She started making endless mental lists about how she was going to make it as a single mother with her age and job.

**IV.**

(_Jane's face would put a beacon to shame, and his smile stretches from ear to ear. He looks as though he's about to drop on his knees and start cooing to her still very flat stomach. "Lisbon," he beams, and she just stands there, frozen, "this is wonderful! I _always_ wanted a child!"_

_Two weeks later, they're already discussing baby names, and trying to figure out how they're going to tell everyone about it. It turns out they only have to inform Cho – all the others have already figured it out on their own, and they've only known Jane and Lisbon for about a year. Lisbon is happy to know that their FBI co-workers are geniuses._

"_For some strange reason," Jane says to her, sagely, "Cho doesn't seem very up to snuff lately. I think someone should approach him with caution and just let him know already."_

_Lisbon adds, not so sagely, "Yeah. I mean, he hasn't been the sharpest knife in the drawer, lately."_

_Jane's eyes widen. "Lisbon!" he admonishes. "Please do _not_ talk about knives! I thought Red John was a long closed topic! Never to be mentioned again! 1.0! We've moved on! We're at 2.0! We have _moved_ the hell _on_!"_

"_But-" Lisbon stammers, "I didn't even mention-"_

"_Lisbon, please." Jane looks sober. "My beautiful, lovely love, please. That is a closed chapter. We have moved the hell on. Why can't you see how moved on we are?"_

_She nods. "Okay. Who the hell is this Red John guy anyway? I don't even remember anyone with that name."_

_Jane seems content with that.)_

**V.**

In the end, Jane and Lisbon deemed Abbott was the perfect person to bring the news to Cho. After all, they wanted their longtime co-worker and friend to be the godfather of their child, and Abbott had been the one who so zealously brought them together – it seemed fitting.

And so, Dennis Abbott ended up looking at Kimball Cho with an uncomfortable look on his face.

"Now, don't freak out, Kimball."

The other man folds his arms together. "Freak out?"

"Yeah. I mean, panic. Don't panic."

"Telling one not to panic is the perfect way to make one panic. Why am I not panicking?"

"Well, see, there's that thing."

"Thing?"

"Yeah, thing. But I suppose it's more of a who."

"What?"

"No, _who_."

"Who?"

"Yeah, _exactly_."

"Are you trying to confuse me?"

"No, not really."

"Please move it along, I have things I should be doing."

"Yeah. Right. So, you know Lisbon, right?"

"If I know _Lisbon_? With all due respect, sir, are you drunk?"

"Shit. Well. Okay, so, Lisbon. Uh, have you noticed anything new about her lately?'

"Is this some sort of guessing game?"

"If it were, you would have lost already. Okay, so how about this – Jane's a guy, right?"

"...Sir, are you feeling alright?"

"No, but that's beside the point. So, Jane, right?"

"Yes, Jane is a man, and I know Lisbon, but right now I'm concerned about _you_, boss. Have I missed anything?"

"Yes, Kimball, but it's quite alright. Unbelievable, of course, but alright. Moving forward the plot. Alright, how about this, Kimball – how would you feel about becoming a godfather?"

"A godfather? Sir, is your wife pregnant? I didn't even know you had a wife. And why would you ask me of all people – not that I'm not honored, of course-"

"God, Kimball, please stop. Stop. Jane knocked up Lisbon."

"He hit her! How dare he – that motherfucking son of a bitch – I never liked that guy, I knew there was something fishy about him – I'm going to fucking bury him six feet under-"

"He didn't fucking _hit_ her! Well – I don't know, actually, he may have _spanked_ her or something, but I think he hasn't done anything she didn't like-"

"Boss, please. This is getting ridiculous."

"I agree. _So_. Lisbon's eggo is preggo. Procreating's taking place. Jane got Lisbon pregnant."

"Boss. Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Afraid not. Thus the _who_ problem. There's going to be a little miniature Goldilocks running around in about, uh, six months or so. And Jane and Lisbon want you to be the godfather."

Cho's face seemed to show expression. His eyes widened. His lips parted. "So Jane and Lisbon... they're together? Where was I when this was happening?"

**VI.**

(_"What about Isadora?" Jane asks, hands forever on Lisbon's belly. "Or Padma? Or Kaira?"_

_Lisbon frowns. "I prefer Alegra... Oh, oh, what about Carmella? Or Isis?"_

"_And what if it's a boy?" Jane questions, lips pursed in thought. "I like Mathias... And Dante isn't too bad, either."_

_Lisbon shifts a little, turns around to look at him. "I was thinking Ezra... Or Leonidas... 300 is one of my favorite movies."_

"_Meh, I'm not that into that stuff," Jane shrugs. "What about Macricuz?"_

"_But I really want a girl, so let's go back to girls' names." Lisbon makes a humming sound. "I really like Amaryllis... Or Chriselda. Or, uh, Elektra."_

_In the end, they decide to name the baby either Alexander or Charlotte. Depending on the gender, of course._)


End file.
